


Dangerous

by Tyleet



Category: Batman (Nolan films)
Genre: Abortion, Abuse, Dubious Consent, F/M, Genderswap, Murder, Self-Harm, Sexism, Unplanned Pregnancy, casual ableist language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyleet/pseuds/Tyleet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course she's dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangerous

Of course she's dangerous.

She keeps knives in her pockets and hand grenades in her coat lining.

She killed thirty four people before she ever sent her first video to Gotham Tonight--and that was only personally. Minion killings never count. Before she shot Tommy Elliot she cut out his tongue and made him eat it. She grotesquely murdered the only woman Bruce has ever loved, and the only man who could have ever saved him. Arkham can't hold her, prison doesn't touch her, Batman can never hurt her. She's an agent of chaos, and she revels in it. Death is too good for her.  
  
Batman can't understand how he forgot that.

*

The Joker, of course, understands perfectly. It's always the same trouble with Batman: he has too many rules. Eventually he gets angry enough to forget how very small she is, and the crunch of her wrist breaking takes him completely by surprise. She sucks in a ragged breath and twists back into the line of his body, ass pressed against his crotch, broken wrist still in his hand and the other palming her knife and reaching up to clasp his neck.

He makes a disgusted noise, but he _hates_ her, and she's splintered and at his mercy. Come on, she thinks, grinning savagely. I want you to do it,_ come on_, I want you to do it.

He shoves her roughly down, her knees slamming against the concrete, one gloved hand fisted brutally in her hair, and she screams with laughter. He fucks her in an abandoned building in the Narrows while Gotham burns outside, and she wonders giddily if he thinks this is justice.

*

It's the same in all possible worlds. Even the worlds where she's a man, or doesn't really enjoy sex. It's why she came to Gotham in the first place, as soon as she saw the blurry photo on CNN, and it's why she didn't kill Rachel Dawes. Right away.

She knows about the other universes, sometimes. She fucks Batman in every single one, eventually.

What makes things interesting in this universe is what makes things different. Not too different—the Joker still came to Gotham when Bruce Wayne was twenty-nine, left calling cards at crime scenes, loitered on a street corner in full makeup waiting for a van.

She still orchestrated the first attack on the mob with meticulous precision, still followed her minions silently through the bank and moved with a caricature's overblown grace. The Joker is always the bomb guy. She doesn't like the idea of anyone else touching her explosives. Not unless it's _absolutely _necessary.

The Joker's face is exactly the same, because it doesn't matter what it looks like under the makeup.

She still cocked her head curiously to the side and bent over a man with a shotgun to stick a little metal something in his mouth. The nasally drawl, the greasy green hair highlighted in the sun, the quick flash of grin and the string unraveling from underneath her jacket—all exactly the same.

But when the bus crashed back out of the hole in the wall, a man's head exploded.

And when Rachel Dawes was tied hand and foot on the floor of the Joker's van on her way to 252nd street, the Joker just had to kiss her through the gag. Just to see.

Batman underestimates her in this universe, but the Joker is exactly the same.

*

She's really quite a small woman. Five feet three inches _and_ she hunches. Batman towers over her.

He's really sick of the jokes. Not even hers—those are bad enough—but _Gotham's._ Political cartoons where a thumb sized Joker giggles up at a gargantuan enraged Batman. Comedy sketches. Letters to the editor.

Even Bruce Wayne's personal life is filled with snide commentary and accusations that make him burn. His lawyer peppers their consultation with jokes about current events, trying to break the tension. "Come on, Batman drives a fucking _tank_ around the city every night, and he keeps getting his ass handed to him by a tiny bitch wearing too much makeup?"  
  
"The Joker is a domestic terrorist," Bruce says with a forced smile. "Not to mention psychotic."

His lawyer laughs. "All women are psychotic, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce forces a laugh.

And then there was the front cover of psychiatrist Chase Meridian's new book _Feminism's Last Laugh: Misogyny and Prejudice on Gotham's Superstage_, which showed Batman slamming the Joker into a police interrogation table by her throat. The back cover shows quotes from six glowing reviews which lauded the book as a "biographical masterpiece of a dark feminist icon. Meridian explores the symbolism of Gotham's most famous criminal as child, maiden, Magdalene and death crone with frightening realism! With exclusive interviews from the Joker herself, Meridian paints a picture which could only be reminiscent of Capote's _In Cold Blood_."

Alfred bought him a signed copy.

The Joker's face grins up from the glossy paper above the quotes. She wears the same purple men's suit she first wore when she came to Gotham. Batman doesn't think he's ever seen her in women's clothing, or in anything more binding than a man's vest. She doesn't have very many curves, and the greatcoats she continually buys hide them all. She has small high breasts and she never wears a bra.

Bruce doesn't find her desirable at all, this skinny little woman with her hunched shoulders and her knotted, twisted spine. From the skewed shape of her naked back, he thinks it must have been broken, maybe more than once. There's no use asking her when or who did it or how she can still be walking.

He never meant to do it. He's never thought of himself as a good man, but he'd never thought of himself as an evil one before.

But only evil men would know there's a knot of scar tissue surrounding one of her tiny brown nipples, spiraling around it in a flashy starburst—like someone was so fascinated by the contours of her body that they couldn't help tracing and retracing them with the point of a knife. He thinks she probably did it herself. The nipple itself is still intact, though, so he knows she can feel him when he bites down on it, hard.

He doesn't understand why except that it felt like another form of fighting, a fight he could _win._

He hates that she felt good and tight and hot around him, but he felt an ugly vinidcation when she scraped at his neck and started making noises like she was finally in pain, like he could finally hurt her.

Only of course she was lying about that too, because she relaxed underneath him just as he got close, flexing her hips up into his and moaning.  
  
He slammed her back into the floor, furious and close, and she giggled and sighed sweetly.

"Batman," she moaned, as he jerked into her again and again trying to find the control he'd lost, trying to get the upper hand back. "I love you," she finished on a laugh, and that was when he came.

*

How she got pregnant, of course, is pretty simple. You put tab A into slot B and there's always a chance you'll hit _jackpot,_ even if you _do_ play the odds at midnight on broken glass.

What isn't simple, the Joker thinks, is the Bat's reaction to it all. At first he's predictable—sailing his own bat-encrusted yacht straight down the Egyptian river.

"We're having a baby," she says one night on a rooftop.

He gives a short, ugly laugh and throws another punch.

She laughs back and hits the red button. An abortion clinic in the Narrows goes bang.

Batman stops laughing. Then he punches her into the face.

The Joker lands back in her maximum security cell in Arkham, snickering around her broken nose.

"You're beneath contempt," Batman rages, and makes an impressive exit.

He comes back two nights later, snarling like he'd choked on a batarang, his face a mask of fury. Well, his face was _always_ a mask of fury, but his lips had a definite distressed twist to them.

She really can't help giggling a _little_ bit.

"You're _lying_."

She relaxes into her straitjacket. "What? You don't _want_ it? Why don't you bring me back a _coat hanger_ on one of these visits then, Bats?"

He leaves. The next day her medical records go missing. He comes back. He paces wildly inside her cell, cape flaring dramatically behind him and accuses her of sleeping with the entire asylum in the tones of someone grasping fervently at straws. It wasn't his, it was probably a mistake anyway, it was a wonder he hadn't caught anything.

She explains, because the moment your lover realizes he's going to be a father is a moment to be treasured. She dimly thinks she remembers what it was like herself, in another universe. More to the point, the expression on his face just kept getting more-- _precious_.

"Now Bats. I've only ever _cheated_ on you with my _doctor,_ and _he _told me it was a medical exam. He's, ah, terrified of strong women, did you know that? Probably why he wanted to fuck Harrvey's lawyer girl so badly."

She plows on over Batman's enraged "Don't you _dare_ mention her--" because she has a point to make. "Can you imagine what that's like, when you're hot and tight around him, and he just _trembles_ underneath you? Even his cock _trembles._"

"So this—this--could be—"

"But that was _after_ I found out the good news," she concludes wickedly. "I wanted to find out if the _baby_ was all right after Daddy threw us off the edge of a building last week. Good news! Batsy Jr's got a nice, healthy sense of _fear_. And he's all yours, honeycakes." She would like to rub her belly here, but has to settle for rolling her eyes down at herself suggestively and resettling in the straitjacket.

Batman stops pacing. Now his lips look _grey._

"Get rid of it."

"Oh, Batman! _Murder_ our _unborn child?_" She licks her lips.

"It's an abomination," he snarls.

"And for that you'd deny him a chance at, ahaha, _life?_" she demands, raising her left eyebrow teasingly. He's getting to be so easy. "What kind of abuse did your parents _give_ you, anyway?" She doesn't miss the way he freezes. "I bet he'll have your darkly handsome good looks. And my sense of _humor._"

Batman's eyes glitter under the fluorescent lights. Rage, hatred, and self loathing struggle for the spotlight. Oh, and horror, of course. The Joker takes a minute to bask.

"Shut up." His rasp is unsteady.

"It _is_ a, uh, person, you know," she sort-of lies. "Fear toxin doesn't _work_ on me. Never has. But I let Johnny spray some up my _cunt_ the other day and you wouldn't believe the things I saw. It. Was soo. Beautiful."

"_Shut up_!" He slams her hard against the wll, and then abruptly drops her back to her cot, eyes flashing with sudden panic.

She smiles, and plays her trump card. "I thought you had a rule."

Batman leaves.

She escapes the next night.

 

*

Three weeks later, the Joker isn't happy. There are huge bruises under her eyes and her breath stinks of vomit and her temper is…shorter than usual. She hijacks a news helicopter and sends it spiralling down into the darkness of the street, pilot and copilot dead. She jumps out the flight door and lands on a tall rooftop, smiling as the plane crashes below and the night suddenly lights up with fire.

Batman has spent the time battling evil, and quietly imagining a different future. He will wear a different mask. He will still call it Bruce Wayne, but he will put on a different show. He will become a recluse in his mansion, living alone with his aging butler and his adopted son, and Bruce will love his son and keep him safe. There will be someone to pass Batman's mantle to, and Bruce will not die young.

They meet on a rooftop.

The Joker licks her scars and flicks out a switchblade. "You know, airline security just, ah, isn't what it used to be."

"Drop the knife."

She lowers the knife immediately, but does not drop it, putting on a mock pout. "But I _like_ it. You've left me a_lone_ for so long now...well, sometimes. A girl's got to, ah. Get _creative._" She drags the hilt between her legs and moans before bringing it back up to her mouth and licking it.

"You're disgusting." Batman narrowly avoids punching her in the abdomen and doesn't avoid getting stabbed in his left shoulder. He trips over the duffel and hundred dollar bills go spilling everywhere.

She smiles, a hideous baring of lipstick stained teeth. The makeup around her mouth is thinner than he's ever seen it. "And you_ love_ me for it."

She leaps at him, and they slip on money and go crashing down to the tiled roof. Batman wrestles the knife out of her grip and thinks, I will die young. She kisses him violently and she tastes revolting and his fist cracks the tile beside her head and he knows this will end badly.

She cackles, and bites fiercely down on his lower lip. "You know, something like this--_this_\--happens in, like, _all_ possible worlds."

Of course she's dangerous. Batman thinks about rolling them both off the roof, and bites her back.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Dangerous (the What Have You Done remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/188267) by [seriousfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seriousfic/pseuds/seriousfic)




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